Heemskirk on the verandah, lolling in a chair, his legs extended and his white cap reposing on his stomach, was lashing himself into a fury of an atrocious character altogether incomprehensible to a girl like Freya.  His chin was resting on his chest, his eyes gazed stonily at his shoes.  Freya examined him from behind the curtain.  He didn’t stir.  He was ridiculous.  But this absolute stillness was impressive.  She stole back along the passage to the east verandah, where Jasper was sitting quietly in the dark, doing what he was told, like a good boy.

“Psst,” she hissed.  He was by her side in a moment.

“Yes.  What is it?” he murmured.

“It’s that beetle,” she whispered uneasily.  Under the impression of Heemskirk’s sinister immobility she had half a mind to let Jasper know that they had been seen.  But she was by no means certain that Heemskirk would tell her father—­and at any rate not that evening.  She concluded rapidly that the safest thing would be to get Jasper out of the way as soon as possible.

“What has he been doing?” asked Jasper in a calm undertone.

“Oh, nothing!  Nothing.  He sits there looking cross.  But you know how he’s always worrying papa.”

“Your father’s quite unreasonable,” pronounced Jasper judicially.

“I don’t know,” she said in a doubtful tone.  Something of old Nelson’s dread of the authorities had rubbed off on the girl since she had to live with it day after day.  “I don’t know.  Papa’s afraid of being reduced to beggary, as he says, in his old days.  Look here, kid, you had better clear out to-morrow, first thing.”

Jasper had hoped for another afternoon with Freya, an afternoon of quiet felicity with the girl by his side and his eyes on his brig, anticipating a blissful future.  His silence was eloquent with disappointment, and Freya understood it very well.  She, too, was disappointed.  But it was her business to be sensible.

“We shan’t have a moment to ourselves with that beetle creeping round the house,” she argued in a low, hurried voice.  “So what’s the good of your staying?  And he won’t go while the brig’s here.  You know he won’t.”

“He ought to be reported for loitering,” murmured Jasper with a vexed little laugh.

“Mind you get under way at daylight,” recommended Freya under her breath.

He detained her after the manner of lovers.  She expostulated without struggling because it was hard for her to repulse him.  He whispered into her ear while he put his arms round her.

“Next time we two meet, next time I hold you like this, it shall be on board.  You and I, in the brig—­all the world, all the life—­” And then he flashed out:  “I wonder I can wait!  I feel as if I must carry you off now, at once.  I could run with you in my hands--down the path—­without stumbling—­without touching the earth—­”